Through the Eyes of a Soldier
by ForthEorlingas12
Summary: The War of the Ring as seen through the eyes of two soldiers; one from Rohan, the other from Gondor. TTT w/ Rohan, ROTK w/ Gondor. Rated T for intense battle sequences. Please READ AND REVIEW!
1. Standing Watch on Meduseld

**Hello, all. This is our second fan fiction, and it is sort of based on the movie. **

**Disclaimer: We do not own Aragorn, Theoden, or any characters mentioned that are in the book/movie of LOTR.**

**Note: There is a lot of script taken from the movie. If you don't like it, don't read it. **

**Please R&R!!**

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_Blasted sun, _thought Breothaen as he turned his nose up to the blue morning sky. _One decent moment's peace, can it not give me that?_ He shook his helm- capped head, the long black horse's tail on the top swishing across the back of his neck. He sneered to himself and returned to his work.

Outside the stables of Edoras he stood, hammering the last shoe onto his horse's hoof. His long golden hair fluttered across his handsome whiskered face as he hunched over the pale white leg of his dapple-grey steed. It was not an uncommon thing for him to have his hair whipped continuously about his face, but he sensed that something was on the breeze. Whether it was by the Dark Lord's will or not, he could not discern. Whatever it was, it was drawing nearer to Rohan.

Breothaen sighed as he slowly brought the hoof back to the hay covered earth and stood upright. He turned his face towards the increasing gust that came howling down the valley and through Edoras. His hair, which had annoyed him since the start of the day, was pushed behind him and glittered as brightly as the long grasses in the surrounding plains. He squinted, straining to see any approaching storm, or possibly, what he feared the most. He shook his head

He looked up to Meduseld, the jewel of Rohan, and saw Lady Eowyn standing at the top of the stairway, looking down on the peasants. The long white dress that she wore seemed to shine in the light, radiating such a fair essence, it caused Breothaen to look away.

He turned back to his horse, who now had his fair head bent towards the ground, nibbling at the stray strands of hay. Breothaen smiled discreetly as he ran his tan colored hand down the horse's neck.

"You are very peaceful this day," he said softly, referring to the horse in his native tongue. "I hope your peace lasts the approaching storm."

The horse whinnied quietly while lifting his head. He shook his head, his grey mane bouncing up and down as he did so.

Breothaen furrowed his brow. "What troubles you, friend?" he asked while still speaking in the Rohirric language. "Peace, Gelfore. Shan't your silence last longer than a few minutes?"

Gelfore blinked twice at his master, and whinnied once again.

Breothaen reached for Gelfore's harness while still stroking his neck. He took it with his index and middle fingers and pulled the horse's face towards his. While keeping a gentle grip on the harness with his right hand, he patted Gelfore's face with the left. He then turned the horse into the stables and led him in.

He led Gelfore into the stall nearest to the doors on the right. He shut the chest high gate behind him, and looked affectionately back at his proud steed. His thoughts wandered in that moment back to his youth, when he had no other family but this horse. He knew in his heart that the ridicule Rohan received of loving their horses more than their own kin did not apply to him, for Breothaen had no one to call family. _Gelfore _was his kin.

Breothaen followed a line of horses lead by the guards of the Golden Hall out of the stables and back into the sun.

He sighed a he glared at it once more. _Time for my watch,_ he thought as he guessed the time by the position of the light.

He walked to a low table set outside the stables. There sat his cloak and his sword, crafted by himself. He bumped the table with his foot grumpily. He took a deep breath, and swung his cloak around his back, then fastened the ends together with a golden circular brooch. He straightened out any wrinkles or folds in the green material, trying to make himself presentable before the halls of King Théoden. Breothaen carefully lifted his sword while it was still rested in its faded maroon sheath. He examined it carefully, checking to see if there were any nicks or bruises on the highly fragile casing. Once he looked at the whole cover, he slowly drew out the sword. He sighed in relief as he saw the blade was still very polished, and that his hours of rubbing the blade did not go to waste. Breothaen smiled, and slid the sword back into its sheath. Then he fastened it to his belt.

Breothaen rested his left hand on the hilt of his sword, then took up a lance laying upright against the walls of the stables.

A familiar soft neigh came from inside. Breothaen smiled. "I shall return soon, friend."

* * *

Breothaen leaned on his lance heavily, almost on the verge of collapse. His head swayed back and forth as he tried to remain conscious. He threw a quick glance to the guard standing opposite of him.

" Estdelm," he whispered.

The guard remained motionless. He swayed as the wind blew, but remained as still as a statue. The tail upon his helm seemed to Breothaen the only thing that moved as it occasionally blew backwards in the wind.

"Estdelm!" said Breothaen again behind clenched teeth.

"Silence," said Estdelm as he stood unmoving still, "or Hama will have us both hanged."

Breothaen pursed his chapped lips. He sighed, and leaned down on his lance harder.

Breothaen had lost count of how many hours he had been on watch. He thought he had been standing guard of Meduseld for at while, the exact time he could not tell. It was still in daylight; night had not fallen and would not for at least four more hours. He stood in the sun, waiting for his duty time to be over, with only the waning shade of the grand building he stood in front of to cover him. He sighed, and closed his eyes.

He heard the handle of the huge doors rattle from behind him, as if someone was furiously trying to get out. He immediately straightened his posture as he heard light footsteps move closer to him. He glanced to his right, and there stood Lady Eowyn, her pale cheeks stained with tears. She still wore the white dress. She looked up at the banner closest to him, and watched it rip off the pole and blow away over the walls.

Breothaen stood as still as Estdelm had. He could feel the White Lady's eyes upon him as his figure stood even straighter. He heard her sigh, and dared to follow her gaze down by the gates of the thorny walls. He saw the same thing she had; three riders, one clothed in white upon a familiar white steed, another, although hard to tell from his distance, clothed in black on a brown mount, and the last, upon a grey horse, two figures he saw. He could not see the separate shapes of the riders. They made their way up the gravel pathway, the one in white looking straight forward, the other two glancing around at the peasants who had left their houses to observe these foreigners.

Lady Eowyn looked down upon these riders, then hastily disappeared back into the Golden Hall.

Breothaen looked forward as he should. He held his lance a little straighter and did his best to remain still. His eyes did dare to stray away from the vast fields of green he looked at again, and saw the four riders getting closer to the stairs leading up to Meduseld. He could now clearly make out their faces. He recognized the one in white, almost from a dream. The rider dismounted along with his companions and smiled slightly seeing Breothaen's bewildered face. He noticed that the old man leaned on his staff almost as heavily as Breothaen had only moments before. The tallest one helped him up the steps and the other two stayed close behind. They seemed to get up the stairs quickly for the old man's stature. Breothaen quickly looked straight forward once more as the man clothed in black and green raiment looked at him almost suspiciously.

The door warden, Hama, stepped forward quickly from behind the doors as if expecting their arrival. The old man smiled slightly. "Ah," he said.

"I cannot allow you before Théoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame. By order of Grima Wormtongue," Hama said.

The shortest grunted. Breothaen looked at him and saw that he was not a man, but a dwarf. He removed the axes from his back and handed them to one of the two men standing behind Hama. The man unfastened the long sword from his belt, and the tall one gave up his bow, quiver, and a pair of excellent knives.

Hama looked displeased. "Your staff."

The old man stuttered for a moment. "You would not part an old man from his walking stick?"

Hama hesitated, then nodded, and opened the doors.

The four travelers entered, and all was silent once more.


	2. The Heir of Isildur

**Forgive me if this is getting a little boring...things will get better!**

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Breothaen looked up at the sun once more. The four travelers had been in the Golden Hall for about an hour, with no sign of them leaving. He wondered who they were and what their purpose was in Rohan. They certainly were not from Edoras; he would have seen them before. He guessed that they would have to be outsiders, maybe from Eriador. They wore the green colored cloaks, fair in color and material, signaling that they had been there before. They were strange people; in their looks. They appeared to Breothaen to be weary and grieved, especially the man. He was fair in appearance, and had a very tall and kingly stature. Breothaen had noticed that he had pale grey eyes, like sad clouds rolling across the plains. He had a strange aura about him, mysterious and humble. Breothaen could not understand this man.

Breothaen looked around him. He and Estdelm were the only ones to be seen besides additional guards stationed around the city. He pursed his lips. "Estdelm," he whispered.

Estedelm's eye twitched from beneath his helm. "What have I told you? Stay quiet. It is our duty to guard Meduseld, not purposely defy our orders."

Breothaen sighed impatiently. "Yes, I know, but I just wanted to ask you something."

Estdelm moved for the first time while on duty. He took a quick look around. "What?"

"Who are those men?"

Estdelm shrugged slightly. "I have not seen such way worn men in my life. I do not know them."

Breothaen open his mouth to reply, but closed it as he heard the door open from behind him.

Two guards emerged, dragging a man by either arm. They tossed him down the steps, and the man rolled down, screaming wildly as he did so. He was stopped by a turn in the stairway, and held his side while still crying out in pain.

Then, from behind, another man came forth. He walked weakly, and had a sword in his aged hand. He hobbled slowly down the steps. Breothaen almost bowed when he realized that it was King Théoden, finally ridden of his bizarre illness he had been held captive under for so long.

The man in the black and green raiment hurried after the King as he advanced on the man on the steps.

"I've only ever served you, my lord!" he cried while backing down the steps with his hands.

"Your leech craft would have had be crawling on all fours like a beast!" said Théoden coldly.

"Send me not from your sight!" cried the man.

Théoden raised his sword above his head.

The grey-eyed man stayed the king's wrath. "No, my lord! No, my lord. Let him go. Enough blood has been spilt on his account." He outstretched his calloused hand to the man on the ground, as if offering to help him up. The man spat on his hand, and made his way through the crowd.

"Get out of my way!" he yelled.

Théoden looked around as the traitor departed.

A man from the crowd yelled, "Hail Théoden King!" and they all bowed. Even the man beside Théoden sank to his knees.

The king turned around. "Where is Theodred? Where is my son?"

* * *

Breothaen walked back up the steps of Meduseld for the last time that day. He wore his battle gear, as if he was leaving for war the next day, with the same lance in his hand. He looked down at his forearm and pulled his right leather glove higher up his arm. He suddenly looked up as he felt another person collide with him.

He saw the ragged man he had seen before. "Dear sir!" he cried. "I beg your pardon."

The man scowled slightly. He nodded politely as a gesture of his forgiveness. He continued down the steps.

Breothaen furrowed his brow. He pursed his lips, then continued his course up the steps.

As he approached the top, he looked back down at the man, who was about to enter the stables. Breothaen found that this man was also looking back up at him. Once he saw Breothaen's eyes on him, he quickly entered the stables.

Breothaen entered the Golden Hall as the inconspicuously as the storm that had befallen on them. He proceeded to the centre, where a dull fire burned, crackling sadly as Théoden King stared blankly into it. A crown was on his wrinkle free brow, and his golden hair was tidied and combed.

Breothaen bowed. He drew his cloak over his body as he did so. He cleared his throat. Théoden presently looked up at him. Breothaen gulped. "My lord, your son has been prepared."

Théoden nodded slightly. He looked back into the fire.

"Your Majesty?" he said reverently. "It is time."

Théoden glanced up once more. "Yes, it is. See to it that the men are ready."

Breothaen bowed once more. "Yes, my lord." He turned around and proceeded back outside.

"Wait," he heard King Théoden say. He turned back around.

"Yes my lord?"

Théoden smiled slightly amidst all his grief. "Find lord Aragorn and tell him I would like him to walk with me. I would like him escort my son to his grave."

"I will, my lord," said Breothaen as he bowed his head. The looked back up. "Is there anything that His Majesty would request?"

The right side of Théoden's mouth curve up in a smile. "No, young master Breothaen. Go now, take the men with you. Bear up my son to his grave."

"It will be done, Théoden King."

Théoden nodded. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Farewell, young friend." He sighed, and stared into the dying fire once more.

Breothaen bowed for the last time, and left the Golden Hall. He wondered who Aragorn was. He then realized that he was the grey-eyed man he had seen before. This was Aragorn, the one to reclaim the throne of Gondor. Isildur's Heir.

The men were silent as they brought the body of Theodred down the hill, down by the mounds of the kings, where simbelmyne grew in bounty. Breothaen walked slowly, reverently remembering being in the friendship of this man. He kept his eyes fixed before him, wondering how Rohan would go on after Théoden had died. Who would be king when Théoden is gone? There was always Eomer, Marshal of the Third Mark. But Breothaen distinctly remembered the banishment of the King's nephew. He would be leagues away from Edoras by then.

His thoughts were quickly interrupted by the sad clear notes of Lady Eowyn singing in their Rohirric language. He took the words to heart, and sadly looked down.

They were approaching the mound of Theodred. The Lady Eowyn still sang crisp clear notes of grief. They lowered his body from their shoulders, then laid Theodred to rest from the gathering dark.


	3. The Decision

Breothaen woke with a start. His bare chest rose and fell heavily; his brow sweaty. He lay on his straw mattress, supposedly a bed, trying to gather his thoughts and recall his dreams. He shook his head, which had been rid of the helmet that he always wore.

The barracks were silent. Nothing but soft neighs of the horses in the neighboring stables could be heard. It was nearly dawn, probably around five thirty in the morning. Breothaen's eyes were lidded once again, heavy with sleep. He dozed lazily, well unaware that he would be called to duty in a matter of minutes. He sighed sleepily.

A long high note blown from a horn was sounded in the darkness. The horses' neighing only grew louder with the note.

Breothaen rolled off his mattress and onto the dirt floor stomach first. As he looked up, he saw Estdelm, who was asleep in the bunk across from him awake as he heard the thump.

"Breothaen, what are you doing on the floor?" he asked sleepily. "Is it time for our watch?"

"No, Estdelm. We need to wake up though," replied Breothaen. He stood up while pulling a rusty brown tunic over his head. "I can't imagine why we are being summoned before dawn." He yawned.

"We're always summoned before dawn," said Elmend, who had a bunk behind Estdelm's. He was pulling on his left boot grumpily.

Breothaen took a quick glance outside he barracks. It was still dark, even though he had been awake for nearly fifteen minutes, and he was known well for rising right as the sun came up. He also pulled on his boots and dropped a shirt of mail over his head. He yawned, and resumed getting dressed. "It's never this dark."

Elmend stood up from his bed, fully dressed but without his sword. He sighed, and left the barracks without another word.

Estdelm breathed heavily, as if he had again fallen asleep.

"Estdelm!" exclaimed Breothaen. "Wake up!"

"I am awake," said Estdelm, his head buried in his pillow, muffling his voice.

Breothaen tightened his belt around his waist. "You had better get dressed, or," he cleared his throat, "'Hama will have us both killed.'"

Estdelm looked at Breothaen, now fully dressed himself, grumpily. "Fine, although I am certain that we could get away with fifteen minutes more of sleep. Who will notice? The days grow dark, and everyone's probably asleep still."

Breothaen rolled his eyes and left the tired friend of his to his murmuring.

Théoden paced the Golden Hall anxiously. He had his hands folded behind his back as Gandalf, whom Breothaen assumed to be the man in white gave him instruction as to what to do.

"I cannot risk open war," Théoden King said impatiently.

Aragorn, who sat on a table to the left of the throne, removed his pipe from his mouth and said, "Open war is upon you, whether you would risk it or not."

Théoden whirled around angrily. "Last I looked, it was Théoden, not Aragorn that was king of Rohan."

Aragorn hastily and respectfully looked away from the King's gaze. He put his pipe back in his mouth.

Their argument and bickering continued, yet Breothaen took no heed to it as he should. He stood even straighter, knowing that for once in his life as a guard of Edoras, he had done as he should and kept out of the affairs of the King.

He heard footsteps approaching him. He glanced over; it was Estdelm coming to take over Breothaen's watch. He nodded slightly at him as he left his post.

He left the Golden Hall through another door, not the main gates, so as to not disturb the King. He left through the right side, slipping out through a small unnoticeable side door. He sighed as he descended the steps to return to Gelfore, his horse, but a horn was sounded yet again.

He clenched his teeth and rolled his eyes. There had not been an all-Rohirrim summoning call for a great many years, and to Breothaen, the timing couldn't be any worse. He ascended the steps again as other men came shuffling up the stairs with him. There was a great clamor arose in the crowd of men as their numbers grew larger. Breothaen was among the first to enter the great Hall, and was able to stand right before the King before his proclamation.

It took a few moments for all of the men to assemble, but things quickly quieted down when they did so.

Théoden stepped off his throne. All the men bowed. He lifted his hand, telling them to rise. He smiled down on all the men. "Gentlemen. Brothers. I have called you to me at this dark time to give you instruction as to how to keep our people alive. Away from Saruman's dark army."

Several quiet gasps slipped past the men's lips.

Théoden once more held up his hand. "Yes, my friends. Saruman is now a traitor. With wise council from Gandalf the White, we have decided that the time has come to evacuate Edoras and flee to Helm's Deep. There we will be safe. Free from fear we will be there, and Saruman will endanger our lives no more!" He paused a moment. "I want you all to get everyone out. Leave what can be spared behind. Put the wounded or elderly on horses, or even in the wagons if all else fails."

He nodded as to tell the men to go.

The men started scurrying out, trying to carry out the commands of their king.

Breothaen looked back as he left the Golden Hall. There he saw Aragorn, Gandalf, and the Elf and the Dwarf approach the king from the left. Gandalf whispered something in Théoden's ear. The king turned to Breothaen as he stepped out. He cleared his throat. "You, young sir Breothaen," the King said.

Breothaen entered the Golden Hall again. "Yes, sire?"

Théoden stepped down from the throne. "You are not to do as the others. You are my escort. You will ride alongside me to Helm's Deep, and into war if we must."

Breothaen bowed low. "Yes, my lord."

"Because of your exquisite service and loyalty to me, you are now being rewarded," said Théoden kindly.

Breothaen smiled from beneath his helm. "I will, sir."

"Good man," said Théoden with a wink. "You have my leave to go."

Breothaen nodded, and bowed again. He turned around to leave.

"Master Breothaen," he heard a masculine voice from behind say. He turned to see Aragorn approach him.

Thinking quickly, he bowed at the sight of him. "Lord Aragorn," he said.

Aragorn stopped only a few feet away from him. He examined Breothaen for a while, and Breothaen did the same to him in turn. He noticed that his clothes were ripped in many places, and there was a slight unpleasant odor about him. Though for the raggedness of his garment, he wore arm guards, crested with the White Tree of Gondor. He also wore a brooch crafted to resemble a leaf, fastening a grey cloak about his collarbone.

Aragorn cleared his throat. He sniffed slightly. "King Théoden asked me to present these things to you."

From beneath his cloak, he drew out a shield of green, with the white horse springing across it. It was adorned with raised bumps to maximize the protection of the arm. Yellow and orange painted spikes shot out in a circle around the prancing horse. Breothaen looked at it in awe.

"This is for you," Aragorn said. "And may this defend you against the hardest of foes." Then, he drew out a long sheathed sword, crested with metal along the front of the protector. He handed it to Breothaen.

He drew the blade slowly out, admiring every aspect of it. He never fully took out the sword, but slid it back into its place. He gave it back to Aragorn. "Nay, lord Aragorn. I cannot accept this. The shield I would gladly wield in war, but I already have a sword. Please, apologize to the King for me, and tell him I would fight with an heirloom of my family, not a blacksmith."

Aragorn nodded. "I will, young Breothaen." He bowed his head. Looking up, he said, "To Helm's Deep."


	4. The Journey

The sun sank lower and lower in the Middle-earth sky. It was not yet dusk, but it was fast approaching. The people of Edoras slowly and woefully made their way out of their city that they had called home. Peasants they were, many old and dying, which slowed down their journey by a lot.

Breothaen knew that they would lose speed with every passing day. The people were faint in heart after hearing of the death and destruction in the Wold, and did in fact fear that they would have a similar fate. Their strength waned, and their hope was fading slowly with the night.

Aragorn rode alongside Breothaen, who rode with the king as his escort. They spoke little to each other, each man focused on his own thoughts and forebodings. Lady Eowyn had managed to catch up to them at the front, and was very talkative to Aragorn. Breothaen had not the chance to even ask this strange man where he hailed from, for the lady did not even give him a chance. He laughed to himself, quiet enough so that the king would not hear.

* * *

A day passed.

As morning crept up on the horizon, Théoden mounted Snowmane, his valiant steed. Breothaen rushed to his own mount, who stood fastened to a nearby tree. He mounted himself and rode quickly up to Théoden. "Sire?"

Théoden looked at him, almost surprised to see him at his side. "Yes?"

"Are we leaving so soon?"

Théoden nodded. "We have much ground to cover before the next nightfall. I am hoping we can arrive before then. Helm's Deep lies not far away."

Breothaen nodded. Their caravan started moving slowly again, and Breothaen brought Gelfore to a walk. He turned towards the east as the sun rose. Clouds endlessly followed the light and swallowed it up, dashing any dying hope any of them had.

Everyone knew it in their hearts. There would likely be no tomorrow. Saruman was at work. The Dark Lord upon his dark throne in Mordor was pressuring them until they could do no more. They thought they would fall before the final strike would come.

Aragorn trotted Hasufel up to the leading men at the front. Closely behind him came the Lady Eowyn. Once she saw where he was headed, she bashfully fell behind with the peasants.

Aragorn nodded towards Breothaen and bowed to Théoden. "The sun rises not."

Théoden pursed his lips and looked to the horizon. "Evil darkness is at work here."

Aragorn nodded. "Master Breothaen."

"Lord Aragorn," said Breothaen in reply.

The Elf and the Dwarf came riding up from behind, both on one steed.

Aragorn turned to them. "Breothaen, this is Legolas, son of Thranduil of Mirkwood, and Gimli, son of Gloin. They are friends of mine."

Breothaen nodded at the two. "I am Breothaen." He bowed his head. He wondered why Aragorn was treating him like so. He was a lord of men, it appeared. Why would he be so acknowledging towards a guard?

They rode in silence for a long while, moving slow enough that many of them dismounted and led their steeds instead of riding them. Breothaen was one of them.

Breothaen took a deep breath. "Lord Aragorn, if I may ask, I wonder where you hail from?"

Aragorn hesitated. "I come from the North. I was raised in Imladris when my father was killed by orcs. I have never really had a permanent dwelling. I am a Ranger."

"A wanderer?" Breothaen asked with surprise. "I have heard of your folk. You are of great and powerful lineage, are you not?"

Aragorn looked away. "Yes." He dismounted.

Legolas looked at Aragorn strangely, his fair Elven brow furrowing. Aragorn looked off into the distance, mindful of his destiny and where it lie.

Breothaen looked back. He saw Lady Eowyn trot back up to the men. She stopped by Aragorn and dismounted. She smiled and looked down, clearing her throat.

Legolas in turn got off Arod, his steed. Gimli rode alone on the grey back. He set the flat side of the head of his axe on his shoulder. He glanced down to Eowyn, and began a friendly conversation.

Several minutes passed. Most of the men were back on their horses. Théoden King fell from from to the middle of the line, along with the rest of his party. There was little conversation, except for the cheerful talk of Gimli to Eowyn.

Breothaen had tuned out of it for the most part, wandering off into his out vast thought. But their conversation drifted off into a particularly interesting subject.

"It's true you don't see many Dwarf women. And in fact, they are so alike in voice and appearance, that their often mistaken for Dwarf men."

Eowyn looked back to Aragorn, who whispered, "It's the beards," and shaped one down his own chin.

"Shh!" she said softly. Aragorn smiled.

Gimli continued, "This, in turn, has given rise to the belief that there are no Dwarf women, and that Dwarves just spring out of holes in the ground!"

Eowyn laughed.

"Which is of course ridiculous." With that, his horse sped up, and onto the ground fell poor Gimli. Eowyn ran over to him as he struggled to regain his balance. "I'm alright, it was deliberate, that was deliberate," he said.

Breothaen smiled slightly.

Théoden and Aragorn began a conversation of their own as they watched Eowyn and Gimli. "I have not seen my niece smile for a long time. She was just a girl," said Théoden, "when they brought her father back dead, cut down by Orcs. She watched her mother succumb to grief. Then she was left alone, to tend her King in growing fear. Doomed to wait upon an old man, who should have loved her as a father."

The King dismounted. "We shall camp here for the night."

They had stopped in a great valley very close to Helm's Deep. There was little vegetation, that is except for the grass and a few bushes.

Breothaen dismounted as well, patted his horse on the face, and left him to graze. People started rushing to the food wagons, while others stayed behind and tended to the horses and sick. Breothaen watched Estdelm and Elmend, whom he had not seen for the whole journey, hurry past him without even noticing his presence. He sighed, and patted his steed once more.

The peasants were settling down and a few were setting up tents for the king. Many of the women were bringing around food for the others, meager stews and stale loaves of bread. A particularly young woman handed Breothaen half a loaf of bread and a bowl of frothy soup. She smiled at him, her fine features disguised by the dirt and grime on her face.

Breothaen smiled back at her, and took off his helmet. "Thank you, dear lady," he said politely.

"You are welcome, kind sir." she began walking away, then turned back. "What is your name?" she asked.

Breothaen furrowed his brow. "Uh, I am Breothaen."

She nodded. "Pleasure to meet you." She turned back again, and began walking away.

"Wait," said Breothaen said as he stood up. "Who-… never mind." He sat back down. He sighed and put his helmet back on. When he looked back up, she was gone.

* * *

Night came and went quickly. The convoy was on its way again, and they were drawing nearer and nearer to Helm's Deep.

Breothaen rode a little behind the King, looking back into the crowd, trying to find the woman he had seen the night before. He had guessed she was mid- twenties, about his age. She would likely have been the youngest of the adults there.

His thoughts were cut short by the thundering of horse hooves gallop past him. It was Hama, the door warden of Edoras, and Gamling, the King's personal assistant riding on the backs of their horses. They sped up the hill and disappeared over it.

Breothaen trotted up to the king as Legolas ran after them. Aragorn followed soon after, leaving his horse's reins with Lady Eowyn. (They had been talking again, with her doing all the speaking.)

Breothaen and Théoden simultaneously gasped hearing blood-curdling screams from the other side of the hill and the clash of metal.

Aragorn suddenly came running back down the hill.

"What is it? What do you see?" asked Théoden.

"Wargs! Wargs are coming! We're under attack!" yelled Aragorn in reply. "Get them out of here!" He rushed past Breothaen and mounted his horse.

The peasants started crying out in despair.

"All riders to the head of the column!" yelled Théoden. He approached Eowyn on his mount. "You must lead them to Helm's Deep."

"I can fight!" she retorted.

"No!" Théoden sighed. "You must do this, for me."

Breothaen followed his King to the front while upon Gelfore.

"Stay together!" he heard Eowyn say from behind.

He and the undersized army of Rohirrim galloped up the hill, and disappeared from the peasants' sight.

Men began crying, "Charge!" as they drew nearer to the wolves of Isengard.

Breothaen's heart was suddenly stricken with fear. These blood thirsty beasts were as big, if not bigger than their horses. They had huge rows if yellowed sharp teeth in their hideous mouths, and tangled fur all over their bodies. Many had spikes going through their thick necks. Their riders were just as ugly as their mounts. Orcs in turn screamed at their enemies.

Suddenly, the horses and the wolves clashed, sending both into a tangled mass of bodies. The horses twisted around the wargs as they collided, then fell to the ground, dead as the massive sharp teeth sunk into their tender flesh.

Breothaen was one of the lucky ones, and evaded the warg heading towards him. He still rode near to his King. With one swift stroke, he hewed the head off an orc charging towards Théoden. He slashed the warg across the face, and it squealed and died.

He swung his shield to his left arm from his back, and raised it in time to block a fatal swing of a morning star. The orc who had dealt the blow screeched at Breothaen, and swung again. He ducked, then forced his sword up its ribcage and into its heart.

It fell off the fleeing warg, dead.

"Breothaen!" he heard a voice say. He turned to see Elmend ride up to him with two spears in hand. He tossed one to Breothaen.

Breothaen nodded, and then thrust the tip of it into another warg's side. Once again, his enemy fell down.

Arrows whizzed to either side fired by both opponents. Many were struck, but more of the enemy than their own numbers. Breothaen looked over to Aragorn, who threw a spear of his own at a warg.

"Breothaen!" came Théoden's voice. "Hither! Hither!" he exclaimed as his enemies drew closer to him.

"Breothaen hurled his spear at the nearest Warg rider, and the rest fled.

He turned in time to see a blur of black and brown disappear over a cliff. He shook his head, and killed one last warg. Victory was theirs.

Theoden sheathed his blood coated sword. "Find any survivors."

"Yes, my lord," said Breothaen as he turned away. He dismounted, and began searching through the bodies. Most were of Isengard, and most of the Rohirrim he did find were alive. Many screamed in pain, and cursed wildly at Saruman.

Estdelm approached him, dabbing a bloody brow with green material. "Théoden King has summoned you," he said. "You best go now. I will find the rest of the living."

Breothaen nodded. "Thank you, Estdelm."

He rode back to his King, and dismounted, seeing him look over the cliff. Beside him stood Legolas.

"Get the wounded on horses. Leave the dead," said the King. He placed a hand on Legolas' shoulder. He turned around and walked away.

Breothaen followed him with a worried look on his face. "My lord?"

Theoden turned to him. He sighed. "Lord Aragorn has fallen."

Breothaen looked bewildered. He nodded and looked down.

"Let us not dwell on our losses. Helm's Deep is near. We must continue." The king mounted, and rode back down the hill.


	5. Helm's Deep

Théoden King and the Rohirrim galloped into Helm's Deep, not long after the rest of their convoy had arrived. Their numbers were few, many of them had perished, due to the Warg riders of Isengard.

Breothaen dismounted with the King. He drew his cloak about him as he saw lady Eowyn approaching them.

Théoden looked up at his niece while pulling off his leather gloves.

She had a worried expression on her pale face. "So few. So few of you have returned," she said despairingly.

Théoden looked away. "Our people are safe." He turned to help a man off his horse. "And we have paid for it with many lives."

Gimli the Dwarf, who had dismounted with Legolas the Elf, approached Eowyn, his helm off his head. "My lady," he said.

She turned and looked down to him. "Lord Aragorn, where is he?"

Gimli's lip quivered for a moment. "He fell."

Breothaen looked down. He heard her gasp slightly as she looked to the king, who was ascending the steps to the keep. He hurried after his king, remembering his duty to him.

As he hurried up the stairs, he saw Gamling at Théoden's side.

"My lord, our numbers are few. We won't last if Saruman's forces dare reach us here," said Gamling while following closely behind Théoden.

The king stopped suddenly. He turned around to Gamling. "Did you take no heed to what I told you at Edoras? This is not a defeat," he said sternly.

"Forgive me, my King," said Gamling as he bowed his head.

Théoden looked up the stairs. Many peasants were huddled against the steps, all bowing at the sight of their ruler. He looked down at them sadly. He continued up the stairs.

Even more peasants were around the top level. Most were women and children, and there were few men suitable for war.

"Has all of Rohan emptied into this stronghold?" said Théoden, acting a bit annoyed.

The keep was the emptiest part of the whole fortress. None but a few guards stood silent in the poorly lit hall. Théoden looked around as if he had never been there before. He unfastened his cloak, and it fell in a crumpled heap on the floor. He walked to the end of the hall, where sat a wooden chair in place of his throne. As he sat, Gamling gathered up his cloak. He folded it up, then shoved it into Breothaen's chest.

Breothaen looked at him strangely.

Gamling looked displeased. "Go put it away!" he whispered.

Breothaen stepped away, bowed towards Théoden, and set it upon a nearby table. He set his left hand upon his sword, then proceeded to stand as a guard.

Gamling stood as still as Breothaen. Théoden would talk to him in their Rohirric tongue from time to time, and would stand up and pace the room with a frustrated look upon his aged face.

What felt like hours crept by. Breothaen had stood in his same place, half-unnoticed by everyone, even the King, who was very perceptive of everyone present most of the time.

Breothaen noticed that no matter where he stood, the king's eyes would always divert to the huge double doors at the start of the hall. It was as if he was expecting someone. Breothaen knew who. He was certain to be dead. Why would the King wait on Aragorn if he was dead?

The noise outside the keep grew louder. Breothaen shifted in place, wishing it was his hopes being confirmed. Théoden had sat back down in his chair, and beckoned Breothaen over to him. He said nothing to him, and just had him stand at his side.

The doors opened. Into the hall came Aragorn.

"A great host you say?" said Théoden as he paced the hall uneasily.

Legolas and Gimli had entered as well with Aragorn as he spoke to the king.

"All Isengard is emptied," replied Aragorn, his bloody hands folded respectfully across his stomach.

"How many?" asked Théoden while glancing over to Breothaen and Gamling, who still stood at the throne.

"Ten thousand strong at least."

"Ten thousand?!" exclaimed Théoden in disbelief.

"It is an army bred for a single purpose:," said Aragorn, "to destroy the world of Men."

Even Breothaen was taken by surprise.

"They will be here by nightfall."

Théoden turned around and began leaving the hall. Gamling and Breothaen followed quickly after him. "Let them come," said he.

They proceeded down to the bottom level of Helm's Deep, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli following them as well. Théoden turned to Gamling. "I want every man and strong lad able to bear arms to be ready for battle by nightfall." He placed a hand on his shoulder. Gamling bowed his head and left the king's side. Breothaen almost followed, but Théoden put a hand on his shoulder as well. He pulled him close. "Do you not understand?"

Breothaen looked at him strangely.

"Gamling does my will. You are to defend me. I have trusted you enough to give such a high honor. Do not forget it."

Breothaen bowed. "Am I to give my life in your stead, then?"

Théoden looked away, and proceeded to step outside the gates. Many men were hammering timbers to the massive doors as they passed.

Théoden pointed to the top of the gate to show Aragorn his plans. "We will cover the causeway and the bridge from above. No army has ever breached the Deeping Wall or set foot inside the Hornburg."

"This is no mindless rabble of orcs," said Gimli. "These are Uruk- Hai. Their armor is thick and their shields broad."

"I have fought many wars, master Dwarf. I know how to defend my own Keep." Théoden moved back into the castle, and began heading to the outer ring. Breothaen went ahead of his King, and reached the top before him. He stood atop the gate, standing alongside another guard, whom he had not seen before. He wore a simple helmet, not as well detailed as the ones in Edoras. He wore armor similar to Breothaen's, but he had no mail. His hair was longer than Breothaen's noticeably, and he had a beard, while Breothaen's facial hair was just whiskers.

Théoden came up the stairs and walked swiftly, with Aragorn still close behind him. Their conversation was inaudible to Breothaen from where he stood, but as they passed over the gate, he heard Théoden speaking.

"…hordes will pillage and burn. We've seen it before."

"They do not come to destroy Rohan's crops or villages, they come to destroy its people," said Aragorn.

Théoden turned around and grabbed the man by his shoulder. He said something to him. Breothaen could not tell what words they spoke.

"Send out riders, my lord. You must call for aid," said Aragorn impatiently.

"And who will answer?" asked Théoden. "Elves? Dwarves? No. We are not so lucky in our friends as you."

"Gondor will answer."

"Gondor?! Where was Gondor when the Westfold fell?! Where was Gondor when our enemies closed in around us?! Where was Gon--. No, my lord Aragorn. We are alone."

Théoden proceeded back up to the Keep with Breothaen and the man standing beside him following. Gamling had rejoined them on their way. As they entered, Théoden gave instruction to them. "Get the women and children into the caves."

"We need more time to lay provisions for-" said Gamling.

"No, there is no time!" retorted Théoden. "War is upon us!"

A murder of crows circled overhead as they entered. Breothaen looked at them suspiciously.

Théoden turned to Breothaen and the man beside him. "Leave us," he said. "Go down into the caves, and get the men ready for war."

Breothaen bowed. He and the other man departed, leaving slowly.

"What is your name?" asked the man.

"Breothaen," he replied.

"I am Briethel."

Breothaen nodded.

"I was sent to defend the King, even to give my life in his stead," said Briethel. "I assume that is your same duty to him?"

Breothaen did not answer.

Briethel remained silent for the rest of the way down.

Breothaen saw fear in all their eyes. Even in the guards' eyes was a sense of danger. He had no fear himself, mindful that if he was to die, it would be a death worthy of remembrance.

He placed his right hand upon the shoulder of an elderly man, whom of which Breothaen thought to be unfit for a warrior. He pulled him away from his weeping wife, and gave a few words of encouragement. "Have no fear," he said. "To the armory."

Breothaen had taken maybe twenty men and boys away from their families, and the women wept like no other.

He came to a boy, who was huddled up against a pillar of limestone. He glanced up to Breothaen.

"Come, lad. War is ahead," said Breothaen.

The boy shook his head. "I cannot fight. I will not. Surely I will die, and the line of my family will end forever."

Breothaen stood him up. "I assure you, I will defend you. I will do all in my power to spare your death."

The boy smiled slightly. He wiped his face with his ragged excuse for a sleeve, and followed Breothaen to the armory.

Wails and cries echoed all throughout the caves. Only women and children sat there in pity and grief.

Breothaen threw one pitiful glance across the way, and turned around. He stopped to see a familiar face. It was the girl he had seen before. Tears streamed down her fair face, taking with it sweat and grime.

Breothaen stepped out of her way. She grabbed his arm. "May you elude death, Breothaen," she said. Breothaen looked down at her.

"What is your name, maiden?" he asked gently.

"Eidden. My brother is Briethel. You know him?"

"Yes, in a way."

"I hope you both survive," she said. Without another word, she embraced Breothaen, catching him off guard. He didn't know what to do, except hug her in return.

Eidden looked up at him. She pulled away, and stepped aside. The boy who had followed Breothaen eyed her suspiciously. He ran to keep up with Breothaen's long stride.

"What is your name? Breothaen, is it?" asked the boy.

"Yes. What is yours?"

The boy shrugged. "I do not have a name by a family. I don't remember it. But I call myself Flenn."

"Flenn? I have never heard that name before," said Breothaen as they drew closer to the armory. "How old are you, Flenn?"

"I do not know, but I think I am within my fifteenth year."

"Ah, said Breothaen.

Together, they entered the armory, already crowded with men. Many had tears streaming down their faces, or some remained expressionless or confused. Briethel stood in the center with many others, handing out swords, shields, bows, and spears.

Breothaen took a fine blade for Flenn. It was dull in color, but sharp. He handed it to the boy. "Do you know how to use this?"

Flenn shook his head no. "I know how to wield one, but not how to handle one."

"Just do your best."

Breothaen took a bow for Flenn and gave that to him as well.

Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli sat to the right of Breothaen, critically examining the meager tools of war.

"Farmers, farriers, stable boys," said Aragorn. "These are no soldiers."

"Most have seen too many winters," said Gimli.

"Or too few," Legolas added. "Look at them. They're frightened. You can see it in their eyes."

The clamor went still for a moment. All turned to look at him. He said something in Elvish to Aragorn, who quickly retorted in the same tongue. Legolas spoke once more.

"Then I shall die as one of them!" he exclaimed in the Common Tongue. He then departed.

"Come on, lad. You have what you need," said Breothaen. "We best find a place on the wall. I have duties to Théoden much like my promised duty to you. I must find him quick. Stay close to me, and behind me if you can."

Flenn nodded as they hurried out of the armory.

A great cry of, "Open the gates!" came from the bridge above them. As they opened, a several battalions of Elves entered Helm's Deep. Hope had been saved.


	6. Battle To the Death

Elves lined up after Aragorn along the main wall. They took up most of the room to that side, spanning to the bridge above the causeway. Where they ended, the Rohan soldiers stood, all surrounding the King.

Breothaen and Flenn stood to the right of Théoden, closer than most others would get. Théoden King stood in silence, quieter than even the terrified peasants. His hand was upon the hilt of his sword, and his left was upon the stone wall. He stared out as if ready to meet death head on.

Breothaen took a deep breath. He followed the king's gaze out into the fields, and saw many lights drawing closer and closer to the castle. There was synchronized marching, and some audible shouting in the Black Speech. The host seemed to never end, flooding into the valley from some unknown entrance. Yet, they seemed quite calm about the battle, subtly aggressive, and blood-thirsty.

Breothaen looked down to Flenn, who stood less than half a foot below him. "Fear not. There is nothing to be scared of in these half witted creatures. The only intelligence they have is that of their master. Even so, what smarts is there in that?"

Flenn smiled as he looked back up to Breothaen. "I have heard that he is cunning, and has a mind filled with devilry and the Blackness of Mordor. I fear that I cannot stand up to that, lest I die in the process."

"If it is to be your end, I would gladly go in your place. You have more to live for than I," said Breothaen reassuringly. He sighed. "You must understand this, Flenn. I may die for my King before you. If it comes down to that, then you must defend yourself. Understand?"

Flenn nodded. "But Breothaen, why did you promise to defend me and your King, when your life can only go to one?"

"I value each life. Whether it is spent in high rank or not, each one deserves to be lived. Just because a king is a king doesn't mean all his subjects go before him."

Flenn nodded, pretending to grasp the concept. He fingered an arrow tip in a barrel before him. "I can't wait until those beasts can feel my wrath."

Breothaen smiled. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped abruptly feeling a hard drop of rain land on his helm with a loud plink. A clap of thunder rolled though the valley as the host advanced, and there came a downpour of freezing rain.

Flenn looked despairingly up to Breothaen as he saw what they were up against. His slow unsteady breaths came out in billows of cold air.

Breothaen put a gloved hand upon Flenn's shaking shoulder. "It's all right. Just stay calm and you will do fine."

Running footsteps approached them from behind. Breothaen turned to see Estdelm and Elmend run towards him, their armor clinking as they did so. Both carried a short bow, and a sword in their other hand. They stopped by Breothaen.

"We have heard of your advancement with the King," said Estdelm. "We've been looking for you behind the gate."

"We were originally stationed down there, but who will it hurt?" asked Elmend.

Breothaen smiled. "This is the first battle I have been in. I am honored to fight beside my friends in this dark hour."

"As are we," said Estdelm. He put a hand on Breothaen's shoulder. "And who is this?" he asked, addressing Flenn.

"I am Flenn," replied the young man. "It would do you well to keep your distance."

Elmend laughed quietly. "Quite aggressive for a boy. Try your luck against these Uruks, we'll see where you get from there. Maybe you'll scare them off."

Even Flenn smiled to that.

Every man looked out in fear to their enemies, despite the nagging hope of day. Horror quivered in all their hearts. Even the Elves, it seemed had fallen victim to the fear, even for the immense grace and elegance of their spectacular race.

Several inhuman roars echoed throughout the crowd of Uruk- Hai. Everywhere sounded their taunts and curses in the Black Speech. They acted so primitive, as if their one and only goal in life, however short lived, was to kill all they saw.

Breothaen took up his bow, and Flenn followed his actions. Each took an arrow, and notched it to the string. They waited for the command the fire.

At last the army stopped, maybe seventy feet or so from the wall. The whole valley was full with the army as far as the eye could see. They waved their shredded banners wildly through the rain, and all simultaneously started banging their pikes upon the wet earth.

Even Théoden cowered at the taunt, and the sound grew so loud, that many covered their ears.

Shouting in Elvish came from down the wall. All of the sudden, every Elf drew an arrow and set in to the bow.

"Set arrows!" shouted Gamling from the King's side.

All four of them drew back the arrows on their strings.

The relentless banging continued, until from Breothaen's right, came an arrow whizzing down into the crowd. It pierced an Uruk in the neck. It swayed for a moment, then fell face forward in death.

Aragorn shouted something towards the man who had fired the arrow from down the wall. Breothaen looked to see who it was, but he only saw Briethel standing in the way. He knew it could not be him, for he had more skill than that.

The Uruks stared at the dead one, and suddenly grew upset. They roared even louder, and the commander roared like a charging bull. The Uruks charged at them in endless fury and hate.

"So it begins," said Théoden.

Breothaen grew impatient waiting for the command to release his arrow. The Elves had fired, and were continuously doing so.

Finally, the command came.

"Give them a volley," said Théoden.

"Fire!" yelled Gamling, and several others repeated the command.

Breothaen released his arrow. He watched it fly into the host, and pierce an Uruk right in the mouth. All of his training had paid off.

Estdelm and Elmend were having good luck in shooting down their enemies as well, but poor Flenn had none. He hadn't even released his first arrow.

"Raise your elbow!" Breothaen yelled as he fired another.

Flenn did so, and punctured an Uruk in the chest.

"Nicely done!" exclaimed Estdelm.

The Uruks returned fire with heavy crossbows. They fired with immense speed and pressure that all who were hit had no chance of survival. Lucky for the Rohirrim, they fired mainly at the Elves, who were the biggest threat.

Breothaen drew another arrow, and shot it down at the Uruks once again. It was a lucky shot, piercing the underarm of a ladder carrier, who was lifting the top to the wall with a berserker orc upon the tip. The ladder became unbalanced, and toppled to the ground, only to be lifted back up by a new bearer.

Many ladders were set to the wall, and Aragorn yelled, "Swords! Swords!" to the Elves.

Breothaen turned his bow to the scaling orcs along with his three other companions. In unison, they fired four arrows, all killing an Uruk.

More ladders were lifted, soon overwhelming the Elves. The enemy spread up the wall, and headed towards the Rohan soldiers. They swung around great metal cleavers, smiting down all in their paths. Breothaen saw Briethel shove his meager sword into the bare stomach of the berserker, and it fell dead to the ground.

"Let's go down there!" yelled Elmend as he drew his sword.

The other three began following, but Breothaen stopped to hear his name.

"Breothaen!" yelled Théoden. "Stay near to me!"

Breothaen furrowed his brow. "My lord, to defend you, I must fight!"

Théoden hesitated, then nodded. "Fly!" he yelled.

As Breothaen turned to his friends, they pushed him back up the wall, running from advancing Uruks. He followed them back up the wall.

"Don't be cowards! Fight!" he exclaimed.

Breothaen could do no more but stay the Uruks from getting to Théoden. He drew his sword once more and rushed down to the Uruks. Flenn stayed nearest to him, with Estdelm and Elmend close behind.

"For Rohan!" cried Breothaen has he met the enemy head on. He swung his sword at the nearest Uruk, but it dived out of the way just in time. It swung at his leg from he ground, but another blade intercepted it. Flenn held the cleaver in place with his sword, and it screeched at him, only to be impaled by Breothaen's sword.

Elmend rushed past Flenn. "Stay behind, boy!" He shoved his sword into the back of an unaware Uruk, and dueled with the next.

With one swift stroke, Breothaen hewed the head off his opponent. He blocked a blow from another, and slid the blade into the Uruk's stomach like a sheath.

Estdelm stayed behind, and fired arrows into the oncoming enemy with Flenn, however unsteady his aim was.

Breothaen looked over to Briethel, who was losing against a berserker. The savage beast brought his cleaver down several times on Briethel's meager defense of his sword placed over his head.

Breothaen swung his shield from his back to his left arm, and jumped against the berserker. He blocked the first blow, and while the enemy's cleaver was embedded in his shield, Breothaen sliced it across the stomach.

He turned to help Briethel up from his position on the wall. His face had a great slash across it, and was bleeding profusely.

"Briethel!" he exclaimed.

Briethel felt the gash along his face. He winced in pain. "I'm fine. Thank you, Breothaen."

Breothaen turned to an approaching Uruk, unusually clad in leather from head to toe. He swung at the beast, missed, then ducked a certainly fatal blow. Breothaen shoved his sword into the right leg of his enemy, but that did little to hinder it. It swung at Breothaen's head, which would have swiped it clean off, but a blade sliced off its own head. Flenn stood there, shocked at the dead creature.

Breothaen laughed. "Looks like I am the one who needs defending!"

Flenn smiled, but his eyes widened to see a berserker run boastfully up to him. He snarled, raised his cleaver over his head, and brought it down on the lad. Flenn was not the one who fell dead.

"Briethel!" cried Breothaen.

The berserker laughed wildly at the dead man, and continued to try to kill Flenn.

Breothaen ran over to him, cursing wildly, then shoved his blood stained sword through the stomach of the berserker. He knelt to Briethel's side. His eyes stared blankly to the heavens, and Breothaen reverently shut them with his fingers. Flenn shook his head as he backed away from the dead man's side.

Breothaen lifted his sword. Hot anger bubbled up in his throat. He stood, and without warning, shoved his sword through the heart of another Uruk, who was beating down on a young boy, who couldn't be more than thirteen years of age. The boy looked dumbfounded. He ran away from Breothaen, and down the stairs. He was fleeing.

"Where are you going?" he yelled, but had more important things to attend to. With a groan and a mighty shove, he pushed a ladder resting against the wall away from it. With a sickening crack, it landed on many orcs.

Breothaen ducked the swing of a cleaver and sliced his opponent across the throat. He looked out to the crowd, which had decreased in numbers noticeably, and saw a light moving through the massive army. He instinctively ran away from where it was heading on the wall. He picked up Flenn, who still sat by Briethel's body, and ran to Estdelm and Elmend, who together finished off an Uruk. "Get away! Run!" he yelled to them. They ran to safety with Breothaen.

They ran to the edge of the wall with their bows in hand. "Causeway!" yelled Estdelm.

Breothaen sheathed his sword, drew an arrow, and released it towards the heavily shielded battalion of Uruks advancing on the gate. Most arrows fired towards them simply bounced off the shields, but a few of the Elven arrows pierced the orcs. As they drew closer, they revealed a huge battering ram.

"Brace the gate!" Théoden cried.

They followed him up to the king, when suddenly, a deafening boom came from down the wall. Breothaen turned to see huge chunks of rock go soaring through the air. Many men and Elves were blasted from it, most landing behind the wall.

Breothaen fired another arrow down to the causeway, piercing an orc in the side.

He looked over to where the King was standing, and saw that he had gone. Having forgotten his duty to him, he rushed down to the gate to defend him.

"Breothaen!" yelled Flenn from behind.

He turned and saw a berserker lift the boy over his head.

"Flenn!" He ran over to the creature, and sliced its leg off. It dropped Flenn, and fell to the ground. Before the lad could regain his balance, the Uruk grabbed him, and pulled him back down. Breothaen sliced the head off the beast. Flenn stood up, and ran down to the gate.

Breothaen looked down to where the blast had occurred. Uruks literally flooded into the enormous gap in the Deeping Wall. Many Elves stood behind who had remained safe from the explosion. Aragorn gave the command to fire, and amazingly, not one arrow fired behind him hit him. They all drew their swords, and charged valiantly towards their enemies.

Breothaen was almost tempted to follow and finish off these brutal savages, but remembered again his duty to his king. He knew he would be released of his duty if he abandoned him, but keeping Helm's Deep under control was his main focus. He shook his head, and made for the stairs.

He jogged down the flight of slippery steps to meet his enemy. A very large berserker grabbed him by his mail shirt and shook him violently. Breothaen cut off the beast's arm with a quick blow. He was dropped, and rolled off the stairs with the wounded creature. There were no more Uruks that met him on the stairs after that encounter. Most were away fighting the Elves. Breothaen looked over to Aragorn, who was very busy against the Uruk- Hai surrounding him. He rushed down to him, and helped him finish off the enemy.

He swung around his sword wildly, having no care of where his enemy would be struck. They would usually approach him with their cleavers above their heads, and Breothaen would shove his sword into their abdomen.

Breothaen heard the banging of the long battering ram to the main gate. He pulled his sword out of his enemy and ran up the stairs and down to the gate.

More Uruk-Hai met him on the way over. It wasn't that much of a delay; there were too few to fight along that wall. As he ran away, he swished his sword behind him, whacking one in the face. The rest of them ran down to the Elves, where more of them were needed. (Half out of fear of Breothaen, half out of sense of duty.)

As he approached the gate, he heard the call of, "Retreat! Fall back! To the Keep!"

Breothaen stopped in his tracks. With all the speed he could muster, he ran as fast as he could. He soon passed Flenn, who had been at the gate, and picked him up as he ran.

As he drew near to the Keep, he saw Estdelm and Elmend overwhelmed with orcs. He swung his sword around violently, whacking the orcs with well-dealt blows.

"The castle is breached!" exclaimed Théoden. "To the Keep!"

The number of men drawing nearer to the Keep decreased greatly. The orcs flooded in and over whelmed the men. Breothaen ran up the steps, but felt something yank him back. He toppled over backwards, releasing Flenn as he did. He stood back up, but Uruks pushed him back down. He killed two with one stroke, and yelled for Flenn.

"Breothaen! Get in here!" yelled Elmend from the Keep.

"I must find Flenn!" he yelled in reply.

He tried to get back down the stairs, but he could not. Uruks came closer to him. They outstretched their long pikes, trying to pull Breothaen back. One was successful in snagging his cloak, ripping it off his back. He had no choice but to abandon Flenn for the sake of his own life. He ran into the Keep, and the gates were shut behind him.

Breothaen panted heavily. He leaned over in disbelief. Had he really failed Flenn? The poor boy he promised to defend could really be dead? He shook, and sank to his knees.

Estdelm and Elmend walked over to him. They hung their heads respectfully. Elmend laid a hand upon Breothaen's shoulder, and went to help brace the gate in one last defense.

Only a handful of men remained. Many of them had retreated into the caves to spend their final hours with their families, all in despair.

Breothaen took off his helm, revealing his unseen hair. He noticed that a few inches had been cut off. He figured it was from the narrow escape with the berserker. He set it upon a nearby table. _Be strong, _he told himself. _There is more to come. _

Three men ran to the table where his helm sat, and overturned it. Everything upon it crashed to the floor, and they hauled it over to the gate.

Breothaen took up his helm once more and valiantly pulled it over his head. He jogged over to the gate, and lifted a table to the back. With the insufficient strength he had left, he threw himself against the barricade, pushing with all his might the keep them out.

Aragorn, Breothaen noticed, had managed to stay alive. He ran to another table, and turned it over.

Estdelm and Elmend brought out of the King's bedroom long pieces of wood, which appeared to be what was left of the bed frame.

"Hurry!" exclaimed Breothaen.

Estdelm and Elmend slowly lifted the boards to the gate, and set it in place.

Théoden said something to Aragorn; Breothaen could not tell what. He paid no attention to their speech, and braced the gate even harder as he felt the battering ram beat against the weak door.

"Get more timbers!" yelled Legolas. He handed one to Breothaen, who put it as hard against the gate as he could.

He heard running footsteps behind him. Aragorn ran over to them and put a hand on Legolas' shoulder. "We ride out to meet them!" he exclaimed. "Breothaen! Come!"

Breothaen hesitantly left the door to Elmend and Estdelm.

"Go!" cried Estdelm.

Breothaen ran after Legolas and Aragorn to his horse, who was already out of the stables, saddled and ready. He mounted Gelfore, and patted his neck.

A loud horn blast came from the top of the tower. The voice of Helm Hammerhand had been sounded in the deep.

"Forth Eorlingas!" cried Théoden.

They all galloped down the hall as the Uruk- Hai broke in. They did not expect these horsemen, and were trampled by the brave men.

"For Rohan!" yelled Breothaen. He swung his sword down at the orcs, and smote one in the face through its helmet, leaving a large gash on it.

Gelfore neighed and pushed forward down the street, trampling as if as blood- thirsty as the Uruks.

The company made for the gate, and galloped down the causeway, crushing so many enemies. Soon they were out in the army, killing all in their paths. The Uruk- Hai were helpless and bewildered, not even trying to get their enemies down.

Breothaen shoved his sword down into an Uruk, and swung violently at them. He stabbed anywhere and everywhere to get them down.

Suddenly, a neigh came from the hill into the valley. Breothaen looked up, and saw a white horse with a rider clad in white. Another rider came behind him. He recognized these two as Gandalf, whom he hadn't realized was gone, and Eomer. What joy filled his heart seeing this man, whom he served as a personal assistant before he was banished from Rohan.

A whole army of horsemen came up behind them. In unison, they galloped down the hill with great speed. Hundreds of these horsemen galloped down to their aid. They rode so bravely, chanting, "To the King!" repeatedly.

Suddenly, a great light shone, and the Uruks were blinded. They raised their pikes from their down position. The horses ran into the orcs, otherwise punctured by the pikes. Soon enough, the orcs were overwhelmed by the horsemen, and fled.

Breothaen followed the new army, and pursued the orcs over to the forest.

"Victory! We have victory!" cried Théoden proudly with his sword in the air.

The Uruks ran wildly, and soon entered the forest.

"Stay out of the forest!" yelled Eomer to the men. "Keep away from the trees!"

Breothaen halted Gelfore, and watched the spectacular movement in the forest. The trees were actually moving! Breothaen gasped and smiled seeing the orcs finished off by that they destroyed.

He sighed. Although for the hardships and grief of battle, he had survived, one of the few had had the opportunity of living longer. Little did he know, there would be worse battles to come.

* * *

Breothaen walked Gelfore up to the keep in silence. Both were numerously scratched and bruised from the previous battle. Yet for all their wounds, they were alive, and thankful to be so.

Breothaen looked down at the mix of Uruk-hai, men, and Elves. Most were piled up on one another in a mangled and grotesque heap. A few were scattered across the battlefield, as if fleeing, but cut down before they reached safety. Breothaen looked down in disgust at the Uruk-hai, and thought it to be disgraceful to have their dead even touching the bodies of the Elves and Rohirrim.

"Breothaen!" came a feminine voice from ahead. He looked up to see Eidden run down to him. She stopped in front of him, as if examining his wounds. "Are you hurt? Are you all right?"

Breothaen nodded. He tried to proceed past her to avoid breaking the bad news to her. She put her arm out in front of him before he could go any further.

"Have you seen Briethel? I have been looking all over for him," Eidden said while peering into the crowd of horsemen who wearily lead their horses into the keep.

"Briethel- he's…" choked Breothaen. He could not finish.

Eidden guessed what he was trying to say. Tears welled up in her eyes. Her breathing became short heaves. "Dead?"

Breothaen bowed his head and did not answer.

"Breothaen, is my brother…dead?"

Breothaen nodded.

Without another word, Eidden sank to her knees, sobbing and wailing like a child. She buried her face in her hands, and hunched over as if she was worshipping.

Breothaen knelt beside her. He kindly put and arm around her shoulder, and she buried her head into his leather clad chest.

"It's all right. Everything will be fine," he said reassuringly.

She shut her eyes tight, squeezing the tears out. She sniffled repeatedly, and wiped her eyes with her sleeve, only to release more salty tears upon Breothaen.

Eventually, her incessant sobbing ceased. She still breathed heavily, and stared into nothingness while sitting against Breothaen. She pushed her head upward and under his chin, and drew closer to him, desperately seeking comfort. He pressed his whiskered chin down on her dark golden hair and held her tighter.

He looked up to see Elmend and Estdelm carrying the body of an Uruk down the steps. Estdelm turned his head as they passed to look sympathetically at Eidden. They continued on mournfully.

The two still sat in silence, until Breothaen shifted a bit. She took him by the shirt. "Don't leave," she whispered. "Stay with me."

"I will," he replied. He closed his eyes, and scooted closer to her. (Although there wasn't much room for that.)

Breothaen looked up to see Théoden, Gandalf, and Aragorn proceeding after the horsemen. Aragorn looked down at him, as if trying to recognize him, but could not. He shook his head slightly, and could only guess the reason for her tears.

"Breothaen," said Théoden. "Come."

Breothaen looked down to Eidden as she pressed harder against him.

"I must go, Eidden," whispered Breothaen softly.

"No," she said loud enough so that the King could hear.

Théoden looked up, then dismounted. "I suppose now's as good of time as ever." He motioned for Breothaen to stand, which he did, with Eidden still clinging to him.

"You have done some very honorable things this night, my men tell me. If you hadn't left my side, well," said Théoden while slightly smiling.

Breothaen nodded.

"I have realized," Théoden continued, "that you have more of a sense of duty to your country rather than to me. I hereby release you from guarding my life with yours. I swear to you, that was not my intention of your duty when I asked you to do so."

"My lord, I would gladly give my life for you, even at the darkest of times. If there is trouble with thee, I will be there to defend you to the death," said Breothaen nobly.

Théoden smiled. Gandalf and Aragorn proceeded up to the Keep, and the king followed soon after.

As he mounted, he placed a gloved hand on Breothaen's shoulder. "Thank you, lad."

Eidden looked up to Breothaen. She embraced him lovingly. "Yes, thank you." Without another word, she threw her arms around his neck, stood on her toes, and kissed him full in the mouth. As she pulled away, she looked into his puzzled eyes. "Breothaen, know this. Whatever places war may take you, you will go with my love."

Breothaen smiled. He left her side, and went up to the keep, with Elmend and Estdelm following close behind. He turned around to look at Eidden, but she had gone. Instead he saw the red faces of his friends, who held back snickers and laughs.

"What?" he asked.

"We saw that!" said Elmend while releasing his hearty laugh.

Breothaen turned red. "You're just jealous." He turned back around. To his dismay, he saw the face of a familiar friend, laying at the foot of the steps, his hands folded across his stomach. His sword lay at his side, blood stained and notched at the tip. His face had many scratches on it, apparently from the sharp armor of the Uruks. "Flenn," he said.

Breothaen's fears were confirmed. The poor lad was dead.


	7. Osgiliath

**I am very sorry if any of my readers miss Breothaen with a passion. Let's just give Ardalian a try, hmm? **

**Warning: Yes, this is a Lord of the Rings fanfiction. There will most definately be more violence. **

* * *

Faramir and his men formed a circle around the two small people. He came to the front of them and knelt down to their level. Many looked at their leader strangely.

"I think at last we understand one another, Frodo Baggins," he said kindly. Faramir rose as Madril spoke.

"You know the laws of our country. The laws of your father. If you let them go, your life will be forfeit," said Madril, getting impatient and upset.

Faramir thought it over for a moment. He looked at his friend as if still considering his words. "Then it is forfeit."

The two small hobbits looked up at Faramir thankfully.

"Release them," said Faramir sternly.

The stouter of the two swiftly pushed Ardalian's large hand off his small shoulder and pulled the straps of his pack up his back.

Ardalian instinctively reached for his sword at his belt, noticing the imminent hostility between the hobbit and him. He pursed his lips as he felt a sharp kick in his leather guarded shin. Hesitantly, he released the hilt, returning his knuckles to their natural color. He turned his head to Thackenar, who stood not but a few feet away from him. Ardalian figured that it was he who dealt the excruciating kick. That was his usual behavior.

"Come," said Faramir to the Hobbits. They hesitantly followed him, with the skulking creature Gollum limping after the one called Frodo.

Madril watched open mouthed as his leader lead the Halflings away from the group. He tightened his grip around his bow, and walked past the men. "Go back to your posts," he said as he went to the river.

Ardalian unsheathed his long sword. He made for a ruined tower to his right, one of the taller structures in Osgiliath. He darted up the flight of steps to the top, with another man close behind.

Several men in armor sat at the top, firing arrows across the river into the orcs. They looked at him strangely, noticing the difference in attire between one another first off. Ardalian was clothed in the likeness of the Rangers, while the others wore the standard Gondorian uniform.

Ardalian sheathed his sword. He cleared his throat as the men returned to the fighting. He drew an arrow from his quiver at his back, and presently set it to the string. Swiftly, he drew back the string and with amazing precision, released it. It soared across the river and into the orc army. He could not tell where it hit, but he could tell that he hit something.

"Down! Down!" cried a man from below. "Out of the towers, men!"

Ardalian groaned, and leapt back down the steps before any other of his companions. He leaned his bow on the wall of the tower, and drew his sword once more. He approached the man who had sent out the cry. "Orcs! Are they crossing the river?"

"Nay, man! They have taken down a far too many towers with them large rocks they're hurling at us. It's not safe anymore!" replied the man. He threw himself against the rock structure to his left as a small boulder came slicing through the air and landed not but a few feet away from them. Ardalian was not frightened by this massive thing, and stayed in his place.

"Hiding out of fear will not save you," Ardalian said unkindly. "Away!" he cried. He ran to the front lines, where few men still stood. He dived onto his stomach as a shower of arrows came from the other side of the river.

The man next to him screamed and fell onto his side motionless. An arrow was lodged in his chest, piercing right through the supposed tough armor. Ardalian rushed over to him on his hands and knees, and pt his ear above his mouth. No breathing.

Ardalian shook his head. He sat up against the barricade of rubble, and turned his head so he could look over the mound. He saw few shapes scuttling about as if the whips of their master were behind them.

He returned to his previous position. Men ran about in front of him, carrying provisions, weapons, and bodies of the fallen. Thackenar came closer to the few men there, his neck length hair whipping around his face as he ran and the wind picked up. "Ardalian!" cried he. "Get back! Ganoden! Eliain, back!"

Ardalian rolled away from the barricade with the other two men behind him. Their armor clinked noisily, while nothing but the chain mail piece below his leather shirt made noise. He stood up by Thackenar as he held his sword close to his chest. "Where is lord Faramir?" he asked.

"Gone with the Halflings, I presume," he said impatiently. He looked across the river. "Their numbers are diminishing. Still, the command has been given to draw back. We must go now."

The man named Eliain took off his helmet and held it under his arm. He wiped his brow, bloody and sweaty. "Fall back?" he asked. "We have nearly won them over!"

"Yes, but we must not be defiant of the command," said Thackenar. He turned away and ran back to the crowd of men.

Ardalian peered into the dwindling army of foes. They seemed just as scared and fearful as the men did. They followed their commanders into the city on their side of the river, disappearing into the gathering darkness.

Ardalian followed the men further into the city. They stayed as far away from the riverbank as possible, as to not encourage another attack.

Ardalian jogged up behind the men he had followed, but stopped suddenly. A crowd had formed around the returned Faramir. He and stood at the center, until Madril came up to him.

"Sir, the orcs have retreated for now," Madril said with a slight sigh of relief.

Faramir nodded. "Good. If there are any more on our side, dispose of them. Hold off any more attackers if they come." With his hand upon the hilt of his sword, he made his way through the circle of men.

Ardalian ran after Faramir, and the first to do so, being at the hind of the crowd. Faramir turned to hear running footsteps behind him.

"Captain Faramir," said Ardalian while bowing. He stood upright. "This token the Halflings bore…"

Faramir cocked his head. He looked at Ardalian impatiently, as if not wanting to answer.

"I do not understand, sir," Ardalian stuttered while stepping back, almost intimidated by Faramir's expression.

"This thing will lead to the ruin of Gondor. I will say no more." Faramir continued to his destination.

"'Tis the Ring of Power," said Madril as he walked to Ardalian, his arms folded across his chest. "I know the consequences of his, dare I say it, foolish actions. His father would have his head if he weren't his son. He should have done the Steward's will."

"Did you not hear the words of the Halfling?" demanded Ardalian. "The Ring will not save Gondor. Now I see it. The Captain realizes that the taking this dark weapon will destroy him and Minas Tirith."

Madril looked at him insolently. "What does a new trainee know of the Ring? You are fresh into war. Until you have weathered through the hardships of battle and seen how desperate we can get for victory, it would do you well not to speak of such things so lightly."

"You are not so worn into battle yourself. Can you honestly say that you have seen such things?"

Madril hesitated to respond. "I have fought many wars, young man. More than you, I'll wager. I have not been to the point of desperation, but to the brink. Tell me, how many battles have you fought? What blood of the enemy is on your hands?"

"Two," replied Ardalian presently. "I am usually not one for conceit, but I have been through more excruciating training. Yes, I lack experience in war, but I can defeat many foes. I am one of the more prized soldiers."

Madril laughed softly. "Are you, now? We will see about that."

"Tell me, Madril. What does all this prove?"

"The Ring must be ours. You have no knowledge of this matter." Madril stormed angrily away from Ardalian, and went the way of his Captain.

"Impressive display of disrespect towards authority," said Thackenar as he laughed subtly.

Ardalian turned around, looking displeased. "Madril is no authority to me."

"Come now, Ardalian. You mustn't be so serious. We need a boost of morale," said Eliain, his mouth full of stale bread.

"Do you think war is amusing? Do you think in these dark times, even good morale is possible? No. I try not to take this lightly. You should not either."

Ganoden, while removing his helmet, said, "You are a soldier, not a leader."

* * *

Night had fallen. Lights flickered in Minas Tirith in the distance, undimmed by the shadow of Mordor looming over the grand architectural achievement.

Ardalian yawned as he crouched down by the dying fire he and his comrades lay around. He turned over a charred log with a long flimsy stick, and as it landed, coals and ashes flew up and choked the air. He waved his hand through the smoke, scattering the ashes through the unpolluted air. He peered across the river. It was unusually quiet, especially for the Orkish side of the city. They were typically making quite the racket, which certainly kept the men on their toes, even at night. Eve though the orcs had infested Osgiliath immensely for only a few days, they still were a disturbance.

Ardalian unsheathed his sword. It was newly acquired, and he desired greatly to wield it in battle. (Since he had not the chance because of the distance between the orcs and the men.) He examined it from the base of the blade to the point. The blade cast a reflection of Ardalian's face in the dim light. He rubbed his chin, whiskered with short black hairs. Using his sleeve, he wiped his wrinkle-free brow, taking with it sweat and blood from the many scratches on his face. As he looked around, he saw that there were few men awake. Most were adding wood to the fire or drinking from flasks they kept secret under their armor. He had time to spend, so he tidied his nape length hair, which looked like it hadn't been washed for weeks.

"What are you doing?" asked Ganoden as he sat up, his armor clinking against the gravel he lay on as he did so. "Going somewhere?"

Ardalian sheathed his sword. "Captain Faramir had assigned me and three others to go to Minas Tirith on the morrow. We need more weapons and supplies just in case those confounded orcs decide to start another attack."

Ganoden yawned. He threw the stick Ardalian had used to rotate the wood onto the fire, and rolled onto his stomach. "What time is it?"

"I cannot tell," said Ardalian, looking up at the waxing gibbous moon. "Do you have watch this night?"

"Nay," said Ganoden whilst laying facedown on his poor excuse for a bed, which was no more than a cloak spread out on the earth. "Several hours, I think, and no sign of an orc. I hope it lasts."

"As do I," said Ardalian.

"How long have you been awake?" Ganoden inquired.

"Longer than you," replied he, smiling. "All night."

"No sleep?"

Ardalian shook his head. "I have this strange sense of foreboding. I would rather watch for the enemy than sleep under their ever watchful eyes."

Ganoden nodded. He rested his head back on the earth, and closed his eyes, heavy with sleep.

Ardalian sighed, and scooted back against a ruined pillar, small pieces of rubble sliding onto him as he did so. He folded his leather guarded arms across his chest, and slumped comfortably against the crumbling rock. His head fell forward, and he closed his eyes, falling victim to the endless nagging of sleep.


	8. Fleeing

**Sorry if this is a bit underdone and not so exended...I rushed through it. **

* * *

"Take the rest of it," came a voice from the other side of the fire. Ardalian reluctantly opened his eyes, still heavy and dark with sleep. His head nodded forward a bit, and he struggled to get it to its correct stable position. He looked to the direction of the sound, and saw only Thackenar and Eliain enjoying a quick breakfast of sausages and stale bread.

"What are you doing?" Ardalian inquired, still lazily half-asleep.

"Having breakfast," said Eliain while shoving a sausage stick into his mouth whole.

"We were supposed to have rationed it, you know," Ardalian muttered.

"So, what?" Thackenar asked rudely, while chewing on a sickly colored paste of his breakfast. He swallowed noisily while drawing a gloved hand over his lips. "You're going back to Minas Tirith for more supplies today, are you not?"

"Yes, I am. You should go as well. We need all the hands we could get. We seem always to be running low on food, thanks to you," Ardalian said sharply.

"Humph," Eliain growled.

"Yes, but we need to keep the city guarded more than we need to get provisions," Thackenar pointed out. "Three's plenty anyway."

"Fine." Ardalian yawned widely while stretching his arms. "Is there any more to eat, or have you pigs inhaled it all?"

Eliain slid a bowl of cold food over to him with his foot while still eating.

"Where is Ganoden?" asked Ardalian as he picked up a piece of sausage.

"On his watch," replied Thackenar. "He won't be back until the second hour is up."

"In fact, that was his food we gave to you," said Eliain as he set his empty bowl on the gravel. "We didn't save any for you because well, we figured you'd snap at us for eating so much and go pick at your moldy bread."

Ardalian chuckled. "Nay, man. I feel half starved." He bit off a piece of the meat and chewed slowly.

The three sat in silence for a while, until Thackenar, while his feet propped up on a chunk of fallen rock, said, "I wonder if there's any ale left."

"Probably not. We just finished fighting those orcs," said Ardalian. "There won't be any ale until we've officially driven them off."

"Hmm," mused Eliain while picking at his teeth. He stood up, his armor shining brightly in the sunlight as he did so. "I had best be off. I take my watch of the northern perimeter of the city in a few moments. Wouldn't want to be late for that."

"Be wary," Thackenar muttered. "Rumor has it that the orcs are coming from the north. Keep a look out."

Eliain pondered his words. "I best be watchful then." He departed without another word.

Ardalian looked up at the sun, cheerfully shining down on the city, the faded white walls of Osgiliath shining out a bit brighter. He looked east. Clouds were coming again, as was expected from Mordor. They were very heavy by looks, and dark indeed. Thunder moved along with them, quiet but growing in volume as the clouds loomed closer.

Thackenar stood up soon after, and pulled down his leather shirt, straightening out the wrinkles. "Is there even anything to do here?"

Ardalian set his empty bowl on the ground. He shook his head no. "Not unless you would seek out the orcs and finish them off yourself."

Thackenar placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. "I suppose I could go with you to Minas Tirith."

Ardalian nodded as he got up. "We are leaving in a few moments. Go ready your horse."

Thackenar nodded and disappeared.

"Ardalian," came a voice from behind. He turned to see Captain Faramir approaching him.

"Sir," said Ardalian as he bowed. "Is anything wrong?"

"Madril and I were considering postponing the trek back to Minas Tirith. We need men more than food. We still have some left," Faramir said.

"But, sir, the city is naught but a few leagues away. It will not take long, I assure you."

"If too many men are gone, we will not hold out if the orcs attack."

"'Tis only myself and four others making the trip. And, I also assure you that we will be back in time to back up the defenses."

Faramir sighed. "Fine, then. You have my leave to go."

Ardalian bowed his head. He turned back around only to see Thackenar with the reigns of two horses in his hand. "Captain Faramir," he gasped as he bowed, caught off guard at his presence.

"You are going as well?" inquired Faramir.

"Yes, sir," replied Thackenar. "Ardalian, the other three are ready to go."

Ardalian nodded. "Fare thee well, Captain." He took the reigns to his horse from Thackenar. He mounted as his friend did the same, and rode to out of the city, with the other three following.

* * *

"Is that the rest of it?" asked Madril as he unloaded begs from Ardalian's horse's saddle.

"It is all we could carry, I'm afraid," said Braneron, one of the other men who went with Ardalian. "At least we got more provisions."

Madril nodded.

Faramir approached the men there with his hand on his sword. "Is this it?"

Ardalian nodded as he removed the saddle from his horse's back. "It will last us a few weeks at the most."

"At the most?!" exclaimed Faramir. "We must ration it, then. Unless the orcs are repelled, there's no going back."

"Or if we must retreat," Madril muttered.

"Retreat?" Faramir asked. "No. We cannot retreat. No matter what the circumstances."

"Even if all-" Madril complained, but he stopped. "Yes. Osgiliath must be defended."

"Braneron, take the horses to the stables," said Thackenar. Braneron looked at him disrespectfully.

"Go!" exclaimed Thackenar as he shoved his horse's reins into Braneron's chest.

With a scowl, the young soldier departed with the five horses of his companions behind him.

Ardalian looked up at the sun. It had traveled across the sky in seemingly few hours and was beginning its voyage into the western part, settling beyond the mountains. "For once," he said, "I can see the sun set."

The other men in unison turned their noses to the sky, fading into a vast array of orange and pink.

"The beauty of nature, my friend, lasts not long. Mordor advances," said Faramir slowly, with a slight quiver in his voice.

Ardalian sighed. "Yes, Captain. I can sense it."

* * *

Night had fallen. The men were busying themselves about, getting their rations of food from the storage and eating. Many had built fires, and the others lazily patrolled the edges of the river, acting as if there was nothing to watch for. Most of the soldiers had the mindset that the orcs were driven off, at least for the time. Many had lowered their guard, and were less observant and aware of their surroundings. Faramir nervously strode around the city, glancing across the river every so often, or looking to the skies. After the eerie light shot into the sky from Minas Morgul, he was aware and uneasy, while others thought nothing of it.

Ardalian cautiously nibbled on a stale biscuit, and watched Faramir's every anxious move. He worried as much as his Captain, and kept on his guard. He had no intention of sleeping that night, and would keep watch for the whole time were it up to him. He and his friends sat by the riverbank, with nothing but a few failing structures between them and Anduin. If there was an attack, they'd be the first to know.

"Come now, Ardalian," said Ganoden. "You must eat something other than that old bread you've got."

"I'm not hungry," replied Ardalian hastily, his eyes still focused on the river.

"Suit yourself," Ganoden said. He pulled Ardalian's rations over to him and inconspicuously took a slice of dried meat.

Ardalian stood up and decided to follow Faramir. He had the thought of asking him what was troubling him, and if it was his fears confirmed.

"What- Where are you going?" asked Eliain impatiently.

Ardalian did not reply. Instead, he continued on his way.

The men were wandering about where Faramir stood with Madril, waiting for a spare moment to speak with him. Ardalian pushed his way quite rudely through the forming crowd, towards the front. He looked up to the top of a ruined building, where men patrolled with growing fear. Things were getting tense in Osgiliath.

The sound of metal puncturing metal came from above. There was a grunt, very painful sounding as well. Ardalian looked up, and saw a soldier topple down the steps with no control whatsoever. He landed on his back. Only then did Ardalian realize that he had an arrow sticking out from his breastplate. The men gasped. No one approached the body.

Faramir came shoving through the crowd until he came to the dead man. He gasped and stared open mouthed at him. His hand was as always on the hilt of his sword. "They're not coming from the north," he muttered. With that, he turned around and ran full speed to the other men, who were forming a crowd as well. Ardalian followed him, while halfway unsheathing his sword.

"To the river, quick!" whispered Faramir, with a strange fear in his voice. He unsheathed his sword and ran to the battlefront. Many other men ran after him, confused, but well aware of the impending attack. Men stood stationed at certain parts of the city, handing spears and lances to other soldiers as they ran past.

Ardalian soon realized that the men were hiding against the failing pillars and structures, but he was drawing nearer to the front, and out in the open. He saw figures moving inconspicuously across the water, getting closer and closer. Through the mist, he saw lights flickering from the advancing shapes. He could not tell what they were. Without thinking, he threw himself behind a pillar, almost losing his balance in the process. He stood closest to the edge, so he would be among the first to attack. His breathing became short and inconsistent, and his heart beat faster. He could hear something slamming onto the gravel. Something hard and heavy. Then there were footsteps, moving fast and heavily, almost as if they were stomping around the city. Ardalian saw several of them run past him. Orcs.

From behind his back, he heard fighting and the sounds of orcs being killed, making that usual disgusting sound. He realized that it was time to start attacking. He leapt out into the line of orcs, with the other men standing beside him following quickly. He swung his sword at an orc, and whacked it on the stomach. It fell down to the ground, dropping its short hammer. Ardalian jumped over the dead body, and shoved his sword through the chest of another enemy. He blocked a fatal blow from an oncoming orc, then cut off its arm, followed by its leg. After that one was dead, he killed another one with a single stroke across the side. As it gasped in pain, he shoved his sword through its stomach, although it was already dead.

One of the larger orcs swung his axe over its head, and brought it down on one of the armored soldiers, killing him instantly. It turned to Ardalian as the young man pulled his sword out of his dead foe. He looked up at it (the beast being several inches taller than him), and nearly gasped at it. It swung at his head, but he ducked. He tried cutting off the leg while he was below, but the creature kicked him back with its knee. Ardalian landed on top of the first orc he had slain, but recovered quickly. As he stood up, he saw that the orc beast had been satisfied with just getting him down, so he turned to an oncoming opponent. It swung at the new enemy's head as well as it did to Ardalian. The man ducked just in time, then sliced it across the neck. As the man stood up straight, Ardalian realized that it was Faramir. He took no notice of him, and continued with his fighting.

Ardalian turned around to meet a new foe, but an orc jumped on top of him, forcing the breath out of him and knocking him to the ground. It had lost its weapon in the process of getting him down, so it resorted to its fists. It smacked him across his face with the back of its rotting hand, armored with sharp scales. Ardalian cried out in pain at the action, then pushed the fiend off of him. He pounced on the orc while it was still down, and drew his sword across the orc's face. He stood up, and felt his face where he was hit. It felt hot, and he could feel blood coming from the several wounds. He looked at the blood on his gloved hand, then wiped it away as he clutched his sword with both hands. He ran to another orc from behind, and put his sword through its lower back. As it fell, he looked up and saw Ganoden standing there.

"That was my kill," he said seriously.

Ardalian shrugged, then turned away to fight another. The next enemy swung his falchion to Ardalian's left, but his sword intercepted the blow. The stubborn orc then tried swinging it right, but Ardalian stopped that hit as well. Getting frustrated, the orc shoved his sword straight, but Ardalian turned out of the way. It finally just brought his sword down on him, but Ardalian put up his sword in defense. He twisted his blade, and wrested the falchion from his enemy's hands. He then lifted his sword above his head and in return brought his weapon down on the head of his foe. He felt a pair of hands grab his wrists, and held them in their position. The orc grunted as Ardalian lowered his blade farther. Ardalian released one hand of his sword, and then swung a punch at the creature's deformed face. The orc growled at him, and bared its nasty yellowed teeth at Ardalian. In disgust, Ardalian pushed himself away from it, and jumped once more at it. This time, he swung his sword at the orc's face. With a squeal, it suddenly fell motionless.

He hewed the head off another without the orc even swinging it's weapon. He kicked another in the shin, and it fell. He then pierced his sword through the thick armor and killed the beast. He jumped back at the swing of another, then shoved his sword into its stomach.

Ardalian sank to his knees, exhausted already. He breathed heavily. _Fight!_ he thought to himself. _Don't give up just yet. _He looked up and saw that day was coming. Light from the sun came in through the city, but the orcs were not hindered.

As Ardalian stood back up, he saw all the men. Many were dead, lost to the orcs. Others were kept very busy by the orcs. More flooded into the city as more of their boats arrived. With the increasing numbers, more men had to be sent to the front lines. These new enemies were harder than Ardalian had remembered.

He turned around, and while caught off his guard, another orc came at him and swung at his arm. He felt a sharp stinging pain in his the upper half of the limb, and he yelled in pain and dropped his sword. He grasped his arm painfully as the orc prepared to hew it off the rest of the way. Ardalian rolled out of the way before the beast could hurt his any more, and he grabbed his sword. As the orc lumbered after him, almost weighed down by his corroding blade, Ardalian regained his balance and dueled with the orc. The beast swung at him, but missed, Ardalian being quicker than his sword. After only one hit, he forsake the thought of getting Ardalian with his sword, and threw it away from him. He lunged forward at him, knocking Ardalian onto the ground. They wrestled for a moment, with the orc grappling for Ardalian's sword. He resisted, and whacked the orc on the head with the blade. The dead thing fell off of him, and he stood up. Three orcs came running at him with one another, all raising their weapons above their heads. Ardalian for once did not know what to do. With a battle cry of, "Gondor!," he swung his sword wildly in every which direction. To his surprise, the orcs fell one by one by his blade and his wrath.

He turned away from them. He looked for a new opponent, but saw orcs running on the roofs of the buildings above. With a frustrated growl, he ran up a flight of nearby steps and reached the foes. They didn't put up much of a fight, only armed with bows. He cut them down quickly before they could load, then ran back down the steps. As he went down, a new enemy ran up to him, and began dueling halfway up the stairs. Ardalian yelled angrily, then hopped off the side. He shoved his sword into its leg, and it fell.

"Ardalian!" he heard the voice of Madril say. He turned around. "Come!" exclaimed Madril while beckoning him over.

Ardalian began jogging over to him, but tripped, with the hand of one of the orcs he had thought he'd slain around his ankle. It hissed sharply at him, inhuman in so many ways. Ardalian kicked away from it, and stood back up. As he tried again to get away, another orc intercepted him. It brought its elongated cleaver down on him twice, but Ardalian kept his sword up. He started backing away, but the orc grabbed him by his neck. Ardalian choked, and with a yell, hacked the head off the creature. As he was released, he held his neck, and coughed several times. He continued to Madril.

"Yes?" he asked breathlessly.

"Have you your bow?" Madril said wearily.

Ardalian shook his head no. " I have my quiver, but not the bow itself. I left it where I was camp-" he said, but was stopped by Madril shoving a short bow into his chest.

"Now you do," he said while taking up his own bow. "Follow me."

"But there is a battle to be fought. Everyone able should be out there fighting!" Ardalian protested.

"Yes," Madril said. "And we are." He drew an arrow and fitted it to the string.

Ardalian pulled out an arrow for himself. "Exactly why are we doing this instead of hand-to-hand combat?" he asked while pulling back the string, just to test the bow.

"Volley," Madril replied as he treated an enormous gash on his forehead. "If we can't hold them by sword, we will by bow."

"I would rather do hand-to-hand," muttered Ardalian.

"You're one of the better archers," said Madril as he led him to a group of men who already were ready to fire.

Ardalian pulled back the string as Faramir came running along with several orcs behind him.

"Faramir!" cried Madril as the Captain realized that the men were going to kill those behind him. He jumped out of the way as the men released their arrows.

Ardalian waited to fire. The orcs fell in unison, but one stood still, and that was the one Ardalian shot. Without another word, he dropped his bow and drew out his sword. Orcs still advanced, and while crying, "Gondor!" again, he charged into them. Once he was close enough, without thinking, he threw himself into them, knocking them down. As he stood up, he swung around his sword and killed many in his path.

The other orcs whom he had not killed only stared at him provocatively. A few growled, but Ardalian stood up and swung his sword around wildly once more. Only then did Thackenar join in the fight and aided Ardalian. The two finished of the remainder of the orcs, and Ardalian thanked Thackenar.

He turned around, then he dropped his sword. His hands flew up to his ears. "Nazgûl!" he cried. The demon creature screeched again, but Ardalian picked up his sword instead of being fearful. He had a brave heart, and feared them no more.

Many men cried, "Nazgûl! Nazgûl!" several times, and, "Look out!"

Ardalian ran to another orc, who showed fear even at its own ally. He shoved his sword through its back, and turned to another, but heard the cry of Faramir.

"Fall back! Fall back to Minas Tirith!" he yelled.

Ardalian finished the one he was on, then ran to the stables, without delay. He stood not far from it, and was among the first to enter. There his horse stood, already saddled and ready to go. He mounted, and galloped out, with several following.

Orcs cleared out of the path, but Ardalian swerved his horse to trample them. He slashed down at them, hardly successful in killing any, though.

"Go! Go!" cried many men, who galloped for their lives out of the city.

Ardalian charged out, taking the lead of horsemen. He rode close by Faramir and Thackenar, and kept one of the fastest paces.

He looked up as a great shadow came upon them. Nazgûl came swooping down on the men, picking some up with their fell beasts and dropping them into the crowd. Ardalian ducked as one of the winged beasts flew over him, then turned his horse out of the way as one of the beasts came attacking from the front. He looked back as horses were accumulating in the claws of the beast. He shook his head sadly and continued on. He ducked again as they came down once more.

More men were being picked up and dropped. Ardalian was lucky enough to elude them, and looked forward as he saw a white rider advancing. Suddenly, a blinding light erupted from the figure, and pointed towards the Nazgûl. Ardalian covered his eyes as the demons swooped up and away from the light.


	9. Sisters and Despair

**I am sorry for the REALLY long wait for this chapter to be up....I promise I have been working on it, slowly but surely. Hope you enjoy, and keep up with it! Things are getting more intense!!!**

* * *

Ardalian dismounted, breathing heavily as he swung his leg off the saddle. He leaned forward against his horse, the leather saddle squeaking in its normal fashion. He tried to recall what had just happened…it was still all a blur to him. The last thing he remembered was the bright white light illuminated out of nowhere he could tell. His blue-grey eyes still hurt after his pupils shrunk without warning. Every time he blinked, he saw discolored spots. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with his gloved index fingers.

He looked up. The white walls of Minas Tirith didn't help his vision impaired state one bit, but he could see the shapes of men and horses. He could see the huge gates of the city, and the men who just shut them with great effort. After rubbing his eyes again and blinking several times, his eyesight was back to normal.

He turned back to his horse and patted the stallion on the face as he breathed with slow inconsistent huffs. Ardalian ran his hand down the harness and took the reins. He turned the gentle animal away from his position in the crowd of horse and rider, and led him past the statue in the center of the bottom level. He looked down at the ground as he walked, feeling tired and sore from the battle fought only moments earlier. His muscles were tight and pulled in several places, and the cut on his arm pulsed and ached. He did not grasp it or touch anywhere near the afflicted area in fear that the forming scab would break.

The noise and chatter grew amongst the men, and the horses were becoming restless. Many of the riders were leading their horses off to the stables on the second level. The number of remaining men was quickly decreasing. Ardalian could hear the weary sighs of them, and the grieving cries of those who had lost their friends to the enemy. He could not remember if he had lost any of his friends, but he hoped and even prayed that he hadn't.

"Ardalian!" he heard a high, clear voice sound from in front of him. He looked up to see a girl in her late teens jog over to him while suspending her jumper a few inches from the cobblestone path.

"Arvelan?" he asked her. Dropping his horse's reins, he took up the girl in a tight embrace. "I thought you were going to Cair Andros," he said as he relinquished his grip around her back a bit.

Arvelan shook her head no. "Father told me to stay behind. He said there was no safety where he was headed."

Ardalian nodded. "I just hope he returns in one piece." He sighed. "At least now we know that the orcs aren't coming from that way."

She nodded as well. "Did you see Eliain?" she asked while taking a sweeping look over her brother's shoulder.

"I have not," he said while bending down to reclaim the reins of his steed before he wandered off.

"I told him to find me when he returned…" she said, her voice drifting into a dazed state at the thought of Eliain.

Ardalian smiled at his younger sister and placed a hand on her shoulder. "There is no need to worry," he said reassuringly. "I'm sure he's alright. Just…wait for him, and he'll find you."

"I certainly hope so," she said, her cheerful voice sinking into a low tone.

"Just don't worry," he said kindly.

The right side of her face curved up in a smile. She walked past him to the side of his horse. She pulled on the saddle straps twice, barely able to slip her petite feminine fingers in the space between the horse and the saddle piece. "Your poor horse," he muttered. "I can't understand how this beast would be able to even breathe with how tight you keep him done up."

Ardalian laughed for the first time in a long while. "Not near as tight as you do your horse," he said loudly, enough that the surrounding men stopped to look at him, then continue on their way.

Arvelan smiled. "Not hardly." She grabbed the saddle horn with her left hand and the back of the saddle with her right. Without much struggle, she hoisted herself comfortably into the saddle. She slid her feet, which were as Ardalian noticed, bare, into the stirrups. "Lead on!" she exclaimed, half forgetting her anxious wait for Eliain.

Ardalian tugged on the horse's reins and walked in front of him, silently urging him on, with a slight hint of need for haste. The soft rhythmic beats of his horse's hooves grew quicker as his speed increased.

Ardalian took a deep breath. "Arvelan?" he asked her.

"Yes, brother?" she asked, perplexed by the small number of men, whom she had just noticed in being so few. She had a smile on her face as she caught sight of Eliain, who grasped his side painfully. She didn't notice his woeful actions.

"I-" said Ardalian nervously. "I don't…er, I mean I am not entirely certain that Father completely approves of you and Eliain…"

"Me and Eliain what?" she inquired, the smile on her face drooping.

Ardalian bit his already bleeding lip. "Your pending marriage…" he said quietly.

Arvelan frowned. "I care not of what Father approves or not. Eliain is a good person. I would think he would completely be for it. I will marry him, regardless of what Father says to dissuade me."

"That would greatly displease him," Ardalian quickly retorted.

She opened her mouth to reply, but closed it as a troop of men ran past, swords in hand. Once they were past, she continued. "Father shouldn't interfere. I don't care if he disowns me or anything vile like that. I've made my decision."

Ardalian breathed deeply. "Yes, but I think you should take into consideration that Father loves you, and he wouldn't want to lose you. After all, we are his only children. I can understand how he would need the comfort, especially since Mother died. He is growing old and he is nearly ailing. Do what you may with your life, just remember him and his wishes."

"Oh, yes? You feed him every night and have no life of your own!" Arvelan exclaimed, growing angrier. "I have been tending him like a small child for a large count of years. I have grown so weary of his every little want and complaint. All the while, you are off trying to be heroic and you're on so many adventures. I would love to have that sort of opportunity, but frankly, I don't," she vented.

Ardalian sighed and looked down. " I have been on my so called adventures for your sake, Arvelan. My main motive for even being in Gondor's army is to defend you and Father."

Arvelan rolled her eyes. "Strange," she said rudely. "Eliain told me the very same thing."

Ardalian decided not to retort. How could he forget? Arvelan, throughout her whole nineteen years had always won an argument through giving her opponent the impression she would unleash her terrible fury, which generally included screaming and domestic abuse. He looked straight ahead of him just in time to see a friend approach him while supporting another.

"Ardalian," said Thackenar as he loosened his grip on the one he was literally dragging behind him. "Thank goodness I found you. This one here's been calling for you."

Thackenar's passenger looked up, now conscious. "No I wasn't," he said. His face was bloodied and his forehead wrapped in linen cloth. His armor had been removed, and he was shirtless with a large strip of bandage around his abdomen.

"Eliain!" exclaimed Arvelan as she literally leapt out of the saddle. She threw herself into his open arms. "Are you hurt? Are you all right?"

"Not really", he said, wincing slightly as she pushed herself closer to him. "Be careful, dear. My side is very painful," he mumbled.

Arvelan gasped. She touched the bandage around his abdomen with her index finger gingerly. "What? How did this happen?" She looked up into his face with her big green eyes like a child would.

"I was overwhelmed," replied Eliain softly. "Thankfully Thackenar was there to pull me to safety. I wouldn't be alive, if it weren't for him." He looked over to Thackenar, whom of which he was no longer leaning on, and said, "Thank you, my friend."

Thackenar nodded and folded his hands.

Eliain wrapped his right arm around her waist, and in turn, she put her arm across his upper back so as to support him as he walked. Together, they turned up the street and hobbled slowly on.

Ardalian looked around. The streets had cleared up for the most part of the soldiers and horses; only a few remained, either recently dead, but made it into the city, or few who like Ardalian, talked with their wives, children, or siblings, or even those who were so stricken by grief they could not move.

Ardalian sighed. He climbed onto his horse's recently vacated saddle and took up the reins. He was about to start up the path, but Thackenar spoke.

"Wait, Ardalian," he said, with a hint of concern in his deep voice. Ardalian tugged back on the reins, making his horse back up a bit.

"Yes? Please, Thackenar, my arm hurts. I would like to have it taken care of," Ardalian said most impatiently.

"Yes, yes. I'll make it quick. I did not speak of this before to the others. I figured Eliain could not take it in his injured state."

Ardalian furrowed his brow. "Has Ganoden died?!" he demanded.

"Nay, nay!" exclaimed Thackenar, surprised at himself that that was the impression Ardalian was receiving. "He's not dead; I just do not know his whereabouts." He leaned closer. "It's Madril."

Ardalian remained expressionless. He wasn't that surprised. He certainly was not grieved to a large extent, because of the fact he and Madril never really saw eye-to-eye. He cleared his throat. "Well, 'tis a pity indeed then."

Thackenar nodded solemnly. "They didn't recover his body."

Ardalian slapped the reins around his horse's neck. Without hesitation, the horse walked lazily forward. "Is that all?" inquired Ardalian as he looked back.

"Yes," Thackenar said as he too departed. He made his way through the streets that were quickly filling up with peasants and soldiers on duty. Within a matter of seconds, Ardalian lost sight of him.

His horse dragged his hooves wearily up the street. He would grunt tiredly every so often, or slow down drastically.

Ardalian impatiently kicked the animal in the sides, and with a jolt, he took off trotting up the path into the second level of the city.

* * *

It did not take him long to reach his home after the horse started to pick up the pace. He dismounted, and led his horse into the stables close by. Ardalian left them as quickly as possible, trying to relax and erase the memory of the previous battle from his mind so he could sleep when he got home. He rubbed his eyes for a few moments as he drew nearer to his home. He could now see the distinct features and details of the house; the healthy green plants growing from boxes on the windows, thanks to Arvelan, and the wooden studded door that stood a little ajar, the fire glowing inconspicuously through the window, the numerous barrels of wine stacked outside the door by his father, and the banner of Gondor fluttering proudly in the wind, fastened to a spear Ardalian had planted in memory of his dear mother. He bowed his head reverently at it, counting the years since her death.

He proceeded to the door, excited to be entering his home for the first time in sixteen months…

"NO! NO! NO!" came a blood curdling shriek from inside his house. Ardalian hastily pushed the door open to see who was inside and what was wrong. The breath was forced from him as he saw something he really did not want to lay eyes upon ever. Bloodied bandages lay strewn on the floor, and there were spots of blood all over the ground. It made a trail that led to his father's bed. Ardalian forced himself to follow it. What he saw was never erased from his mind.

Arvelan was leaning onto the edge of the bed, sobbing with no control. Her arms were laid across the top, and her cries grew louder.

Ardalian leapt over to her side. He noticed that her dress had blood all over it, as if she had just been performing some sort of surgical procedure. He backed up, seeing who lay dead on the bed.

"Eliain," he whispered. He looked down in disbelief, with his mouth dangling open.

"I tried to clean his wounds!" Arvelan exclaimed under her sobs. "I should never have taken off his bandages! He was shaking so bad…he was losing so much blood!"

Ardalian could barely understand her. His eyes started to water. He had to find Thackenar, but he couldn't just leave his sister wailing like a child alone. Not without condoling her. He placed his hand on her shoulder, but she quickly pushed it off. "Leave me!" she cried, and sobbed onto Eliain's lifeless hand that she grasped until her knuckles turned white.

Ardalian could not speak. The best he could do was remain silent, in memory of his young good friend.


End file.
